Target

target

when you see this figure in public, i figure you dont see much more than a nigger

that this walk and these curls, guaranteed to see the pearls of heaven, the fight all out just to end up in second

that when i enter this store, you see a hundred more, that when i strut on this floor, your mind plays tricks galore

your eyes stuck like a lock on, hair on that arm stuck up straight like it shocked on, placed on this target, think I’m a thiefin artist, because of that law when I lift my voice and sing you send in the sergeant

say i fit a description of a extracurricular criminal, when i call out the mess you swear it ain’t subliminal, the truth of the past of torn houses we know because the people still living and when i call out the trash disappear is the sheep’s mask, that when i walk down the street, my tone will never be discreet because, I’m exhibit A and yall cant wait until my bodies covered in sheet, but when you covered in the sheet, we know we gotta fleet, cause when you poke your eyes, we can see the devil in disguise, and when we look to the skies we see fire and smoke covered is the most high. see you cant drown this body down the river, you can’t poke the bear in the liver, because when we rise you begin to shiver, because you never thought me more than a nigger. 

this target glows right on my back, that when you see me walking, you’d think you under attack, that when you delegate your leaders you cant wait to go back, because what you lack in melanin equal is the cell we in, the loss of freedom, dichotomy of space, the conditions of our race, that when we fill the place, you wont leave a trace, of evidence 

say i dont fit in, say my communities covered in sin, but you cant wait to scribble the pen, that when we apply you dont ever want us in. 

see the America we live is one of destruction and men, who prey on weakness, who say that your failure aint no more than a sequence, supposed matrix, but the America we live they hate to see us with savings. that when i show up in the room, it seems inevitable doom, that when we see the moon we appear blue. 

when you expect us, you heavily disrespect us, that when you check us, youll find we can never settle for second, the holes in our armor covered by years of sections, of hate, and when you see us in power and support you claim we no more than section 8, that cant wait for the next race, because if we win we could take over the place. this target got holes in it that when you see a garvey, or a marley, a baraka, dhoruba you cant wait to plan evil when i walk you hope and prey i dont have traces of malcom, or martin, or hampton, and hughes, so you can use your weapons of mass destruction and abuse, my people still bruised, so you feel purposed, so you feel choosed, this life is unfair and we’re set up to lose.

see my target doesnt glow bright red, or have traces of blue from the right to shoot, but it has a clean white sheet because when you attack youll find youll never win, that when you kill our people, lock so-called evil, mock the feeble, inflict inconceivable, harm and swear you legal. but you cant lock away my voice, you dont have a choice, remember that justice always wins, look at mandela, emancipate, but we proclamiate that we’ll always be originally We.

copyright © micah hill 2024